


floating then drowning

by lovelymuke



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Drug Abuse, Established Relationship, Hurt Luke, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, a bit of swearing i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-05-25 18:38:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14983181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelymuke/pseuds/lovelymuke
Summary: As Luke stands over the bathroom sink and swallows one of the pills, he knows that this is it. There's no turning back after this. As long as he can make the bottles of pills he has stashed in the bottom of his suitcase last until the end of the promo run he’ll be fine. So he doesn’t worry. Instead, he just knocks back the second pill and walks out of the bathroom to his waiting boyfriend. He’s going to prove that he’s still worthy of being in the band, that he can hold himself together.If he needs medication to do that, no one needs to know.





	floating then drowning

Luke’s got his back to the bathroom door, slumping on the tiled floor of some hotel room in whatever city they landed in the previous evening. He’s given up keeping track, his mind scattered and hazy. He’s meant to be taking a shower, he knows that much. At least that's what he told Michael he was going to do, as he forced himself out of the safe haven that was his boyfriend’s arms and the freshly-laundered hotel sheets, not long after the tinny sound of a phone alarm had rung through the room.

Now though, it seems like too much effort to even pull himself up onto his two feet and make the few steps to where the shower is already running. He had turned it on when he first stepped into the room, and now steam is beginning to fill up the bathroom, wrapping around him and suffocating him. His eyes droop close as his head lulls back against the wood of the door at an uncomfortable angle. He’s too tired to care though - it’s far too early to be awake, and Luke is too empty, too numb.

He’s not sure if he drifts back into some sort of slumber induced from the heavy and humid air of the steam filled bathroom, but the next thing he hears is a knocking - or banging - coming from somewhere above his head, someone on the other side of the door. “Luke, I swear to god. If you’ve turned the bathroom floor into a motherfucking lake again I’m gonna ask for my own room next time.” It’s Michael of course, and Luke can hear the laughter in his voice behind the deep and gravelly tone, brought on from exhaustion, just like all the rest of them at the moment.

 _You’re not special you princess. Stop wallowing and get up off the damn floor_.

That’s the thought that breaks through the hazy fog floating through his head, and he shakily rises to his feet. “Yeah… yeah, give me like two minutes.”

 

As soon as Luke emerges from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist and droplets from his curls dripping down onto his shoulders, Michael moves in his direction, holding his arms out. Luke doesn’t hesitate to take any of the fleeting seconds of affection he can get before they’re forced out into the world for the day, into a reality in which neither of them are any more to each other than bandmates and best friends as far as the public is concerned. So Luke presses a kiss to his boyfriends' jawline, his lips brushing against the stubble slightly. Michael hadn’t been able to shave over the past few days, because Luke had left his razor in a bathroom somewhere between Milan and London, and Michal had long since given up on buying one for himself since they both basically end up living out of the same suitcase while on tour.

“Tired?” Michael asks. It’s a simple one-word question, none of them are really morning people. Luke just shrugs a little in reply as he slips out of their embrace in favour of rummaging through one of the suitcases sitting in the corner of the room to try and find something presentable to dress himself in for the day. Luke isn’t entirely sure if the underwear he pulls out are even his, or if they’re even clean but he puts them on anyway as he listens to Michael walk away, the click of the bathroom door and the rush of the water as the shower comes to life again.

If he’s honest with himself, he’s not sure if tired is the right word to describe it anymore. His muscles groan in exhaustion and anxiety grips his chest at the mere action of tugging his leather jacket over his outfit, his actions slow and clumsy. He perches on the corner of the unmade bed, his fingertips grasping at the tangled sheets as he watches Michael seemingly effortlessly piece together his outfit and throw it on.

 

“Hey, you ready to get out of here?” Michael is standing in front of him, and Luke realises he must have zoned out again.

“Bring it on,” Luke chuckles humorlessly as he follows Michael out of the room, his eyes glazed over, forced open but not seeing. In reality, he’d like nothing more than for the universe to in fact, _not bring it on_ , and to just give in for one day and let him stay in bed, away from anyone and anything. Luke really does wish he wasn’t like this. The anxiety, the insomnia, the waves of depression, all of the aspects of their mental health that the band had taken a break to _fix_.

If he had it anywhere within him to be logical right now, he would know that it isn’t his fault. He can’t help it. “It’s a chemical imbalance in your brain, that’s just the biology. It is in no way a result of who you are as a person,” is what his therapist back in LA, who he goes to see far too infrequently might say, a result of the life they were all thrown headfirst into when they were only fifteen. And yet still, Luke feels the familiar stab of insecurity in his gut as he sits down to breakfast after making it down to the ground floor, and proceeds to spend the next twenty minutes ignoring the concerned gazes and furrowed eyebrows of his bandmates as he refuses any breakfast, even a bite of Michael’s banana.

He _knows_ that they know. They always know.

But they’re not eighteen years old anymore, and seven years in the band has subconsciously drilled into them all the art of isolating their struggles, piecing themselves together day after day in order to maintain their public image. For Luke, being surrounded by his three best friends, the people who know him best in the entire world, every day, is both a blessing and a curse. When they first started out on the road, living in London then touring with One Direction you could always tell when his anxiety was acting up. He was all long shaking limbs and lip biting, often cycling between either being clingy and whiny or so withdrawn that he often simply resorted to allowing Michael to talk for him.  

Now well into his twenties, it’s different. Now, it’s harder to tell. He spends all day in bed if their schedule is clear, his eyes go glassy and his breathing shallows. For the entire band this life is crazy, and as much as they will never admit it, it’s often far too much for people as young - and as unstable - as the four of them. For Luke though, it’s always been easier for him to slip back into this dark headspace, the pressure mounting on his shoulders as he’s propped up as the frontman of the band and told ‘the show must go on.’ So doesn’t let himself lean on anyone for support anymore, after years of being instructed what to do, where to go and how to act, Luke keeps his mouth shut. They’re not allowed to whine, told to ‘just think of all the other bands that would kill to be in their position.’ Sometimes, after a particularly draining month of spending every waking moment inside planes, vans and windowless radio stations, Michael wonders if this is really the case.

He frowns, watching as his boyfriend’s eyes continue to droop, despite the two empty coffee cups sitting in front of him, the only things filling Luke’s stomach this morning.

It’s almost like clockwork to all of them now, the way their days are supposed to run. Wake up, get dressed, sit down to have breakfast - if it’s a lucky day, otherwise, it’s chugging a coffee in the back of the car - get out the door and sit in front of a camera and answer the same questions for hours on end. So that’s exactly what they did, Luke blearily following the bleached blonde of Michael’s hair, resisting the temptation to reach out for his hand. Even inside the hotel lobby, that would get them into far too much trouble than it would be worth.

Luke shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket. At least that kept the shakes at bay.

 

They all keep an eye on him that day. Michael in particular, his eyes never straying far from his blonde boyfriend, but if he’s honest, he’s not even sure Luke notices at all. He’s not sure he’s noticing much of anything.

Luke notices. Of course he does. He can feel the eyes on his back, the concerned glances from his bandmates and the calculating stares of their management team. He knows he needs to try harder. He’s not worth this. He can’t do anything right. The boys already have enough on their plate without having to worry about him. Everything would be easier without him.

They file in and out of radio stations all day, and the moment that he realises their car is pulling up back outside of their hotel instead of yet another soulless media building, he doesn’t think he’s ever been more grateful for anything in his life. Maybe tonight, he might actually get some sleep.

He doesn’t, obviously.

Not that night, or the night after that. He lies awake and stares at the blank ceiling. The rise and fall of Michael’s chest comforts him slightly, the sound of his deep breathing and the way that every now and then a strand of bleached hair tickles his cheek. He closes his eyes, wishing the darkness would swallow him whole.

 

Two days later, Michael is starting to get slightly desperate. It’s far too early as they all pile out of the car, half-finished coffees still grasped in hands like lifelines, to be greeted by a crowd of hundreds, screaming as the crane for a glimpse of four boys. Michael loves them, he really, really does. More than life itself. But it can be overwhelming. He gets caught up in it for a minute and jumps slightly as he suddenly hears a mumble in his ear, unaware that Calum had appeared beside him. “How the fuck does he do that?”

“What d’you mean?” Michael mumbles back absentmindedly, keeping his voice down as he signs his name in sharpie on a fans forearm. Then he glances up, following Calum’s gaze to just up ahead, where Luke is standing.

Then Michael knows exactly what Calum means. He means how can Luke go from sitting in silence, having hardly uttering a single word to Michael all morning apart from that _yes, he’s finished in the bathroom_ and _no, he doesn’t want breakfast_ , to greeting fans, a smile plastered on his face as he reaches for cell phones to take selfies, lets countless pairs of arms wrap around him for hugs. They both know that it’s because he has to though. He’s the frontman of the band. He’s pushed around by management the most and they all know it, although they don’t like to admit it to themselves because of the guilt that there’s nothing they can do to stop it. He cops it far worse than any of the others when bad press is spread around, and they all know he doesn’t just let it roll off his shoulders. The criticism snakes its way inside of him and stays there, tearing him apart from the inside out.

Michael looks over at him for another second, unable to tear his eyes away, watching the smile he plasters on his face as someone leans forward over the barrier to say something to him. Michael can tell it’s not his real smile though. It’s not the soft smile that tugs at his lips as his cheeks tint pink when Michael tells him that he loves him. It’s not the goofy smile that makes his eyes crinkle whenever someone tells a particularly stupid joke that Luke can’t help but laugh at. It’s his media smile. Michael hates that smile. Luke always has been the best at putting up a facade.

And yet as if on cue, as they step inside the building, herded like sheep into the media room to wait, Luke droops slightly. Michael watches from a distance as he slumps down on one of the sofas, shoulders hunched in such a way that on any other day Ashton, the only one to take yoga seriously in the band, would half-heartedly reprimand him for his posture. Today isn’t a day for that though, and Michael walks up to the sofa, carefully eyeing up his boyfriend as he sits down. As he allows himself to get comfortable for the wait before they’re called into the studio, Luke doesn’t move to rest his head against his chest like he might do on a good day, or when there’s no one else around. Instead, he stares straight ahead, leg bouncing up and down, unmoving at Michaels presence.

 

“Boys, they’re ready for you.” Luke’s head snaps up at this, ten minutes later, and Michael instinctively reaches out, his hand resting on top of Luke’s knee ever so gently. Just enough to remind him that he’s here. Luke nods in his direction, his hand coming down slightly to brush over Michael’s before he’s on his feet, following Ashton into the studio. He knows he just needs to focus. It’s like choreography at this point, his mind racing to try and keep up with all of the different steps.

Smile at the interviewer. Introduce yourself. Sit down in the right place, but not too close to Michael. Never too close to Michael. Laugh at all the right times. Listen out for your name, answer the questions. Speak up at all the right times. Don’t stay quiet for too long, people might think there’s something wrong. Shake the interviewer's hand once it’s all over, thank them for having you. Smile. Always smile.

Even so, his mind has been too slow as of late and he’s stumbling over his own feet trying to get all the steps. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t seem to get it right.

Night has fallen by the time they’re released from their last interview of the day, glimpses of the darkened night sky peering in through the skylight above them as they make their way through a maze of hallways. Michael is standing as close to Luke as he can get in public, the back of their hands brushing against each other every so often as they walked. The touch is just enough to ground Luke slightly, and he breathes. One breath in slowly, hold, and exhale. He’s pretty sure he’s forgotten how to do that recently.

“Hey, you doing okay?” Michael asks eventually, his voice carrying a certain amount of hesitance as his eyes flit over to his boyfriend.  It seems like a bit of an empty question, they both know the answer is no. “Yeah… just, y’know,” Luke shrugs anyway, the corners of his lips turning up slightly as if he’s attempting a half smile. Michael can’t decide if it’s encouraging or the saddest thing he’s ever seen. “Yeah, I get it” he mutters, even though he doesn’t and he wishes he did but he can never seem to get inside his boyfriend’s head.

“Luke. A word?”

Luke startles slightly at hearing his name called from behind them. He curses himself for getting so wrapped up with Michael. He can’t afford to let himself do that, not right now. They have a job to do. “Yeah, of course,” Luke nods, and Michael lets him pull away after one more gentle brush of hands, a quiet reassurance of _I’ll be right here_. The words Michael can’t say.

“What’s up?” Luke asks, biting down on his bottom lip nervously. He can read the expression on their managers face, and he knew he hadn’t been called over for a pleasant conversation on the success of their single. He trained his eyes on where Calum and Michael were now walking ahead of them.

“Look Luke…” their manager sighed, looking him up and down. Luke twisted his hands together. “We just need to let you know that we need a lot more from you at the moment than I feel like you’re putting into the band. I get that this is a lot right now, I really do” their manager’s tone is impersonal and slightly cold, the type of tone which gave the impression that he didn’t really ‘get it’ at all. “But you want this album to do well right?” Luke can tell he’s doing his best to remain professional as he continues, but there’s frustration masked behind the clipped words and he the cold hands of panic start to clench at his chest.

“No, no I do, trust me, I’m really sorry-”

Their manager cuts him off, “It’s fine Luke, but let's just get the energy back up okay? I know you’re trying but this just isn’t good enough. The fans deserve more than this. The band deserves more than this.”

Luke knows this is true. He’s a letdown, never quite good enough. Everyone deserves better than him. But he can fix it, it’s not too late. He’s been avoiding turning to this, fighting the urge to reach for them every morning because he knows how much he _needs_ them and it scares him. He’s not going to let himself be a disappointment anymore. He can handle this.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got it under control.”

He walks away after that, slipping into the backseat of the car taking them back to the hotel next to Ashton. There’s an uncomfortable feeling of guilt churning torturously in his stomach as he sees Michael turn his head slightly to glance at him. He knows somewhere deep down that Michael wouldn’t want him to be doing this, definitely not without letting him know first. But he knows it’s the right thing to do. He needs to be in control of himself and his emotions for the sake of the band. He can’t expect the other three to carry him. He needs to carry himself.

 

That’s why Luke attempts to make a quick escape back to his and Michael’s room when they all get back to the hotel and pile out of the elevator onto their floor. But before he can, Aston is clasping his shoulder, rubbing gently for a second before Calum pulls him into a one-armed hug. “Love ya mate.”

“Love you too Cal” Luke mumbled, his voice slightly muffled in the leather of Calum’s jacket and Michael smiled affectionately.

“Alright you two, let me get him to bed.”

“Gross” Ashton frowned. Luke blushed slightly.

“Not like that you assholes” Michael groaned, tugging Luke in the direction of their room, who gladly followed, letting Michael’s loose grip on his forearm guide him.

 

Luke is right, he knew he would be. Every night as soon as they close their door, safe inside the haven of the four walls, Michael does two things. He leans in to kiss Luke, his lips gentle though there’s a hint of desperation there, as there usually is after a long twelve hours of extreme reduced physical contact. And immediately following that, he heads for the bathroom, desperately craving the cleanliness and hygiene of a shower.

Luke watches his retreating back, listening out for the rush of water to indicate that the shower had been started up before he moves across the room, crouching over where his suitcase is propped open in the corner. His hands shake slightly as he unzips the side compartment, which had been left untouched since it had been packed the day before they left LA. He digs through the t-shirt and pairs of socks he has stuffed in there to hide its contents until he felt his fingertips graze against plastic, his hand closing around one of the clear orange bottles he knew would be in here.

He doesn’t know how he could have ever been so stupid to think that he could possibly survive an entire anxiety-ridden promotion tour _without_ these. The Xanax. The tiny white pills with the ability to somehow turn him into the person he wished he could be, collected, put together, extroverted, calm. It doesn’t matter if he falls down the rabbit hole of what Ashton had labelled his ‘self-medicating’ phase during the year prior. They've technically been prescribed to him, he can do whatever he damn pleases. So what if he doesn’t ‘read the label and use as directed.’ It will make his band happy, he decides, to see him functioning normally. He owes it to them.

Even so, as Luke tips two of the pills into the palm of his hand, clenching his fist around them, he stares himself down in the mirror. “I won’t go overboard” he mutters, trying to will himself to keep the promise by letting it escape his lips, putting it out into the universe. He winces slightly at the mess of his curls and the dark circles under his eyes, making it look like he hasn’t slept in weeks. He hasn’t, really. He needs the pills. He’s stupid for not realising it earlier.

So he picks up the bottle of water still sitting on his nightstand from the night before, and throws back both the pills in one gulp. Now all he has to do is wait for the rush, for the Xanax to travel through his bloodstream and wash away all of his anxieties.

 

The next morning, Luke is digging through his suitcase again, already desperate for the calm that the medication had provided him with last night. He tries to act as nonchalant as possible, so to not attract the attention of Michael, who’s stretched out on the bed behind him, his attention seemingly solely focused on the game his phone screen is displaying. It clearly doesn’t work though, when he sees Michael sit up out of the corner of his eye, feels his boyfriends' eyes on him.

“What’cha looking for?”

“Oh, just, uh-”

“If it’s your laptop charger, I think I saw it in my suitcase” Michael gestures vaguely over to the other side of the room before leaning back against the pillows and reverting his eyes back to his phone screen. Normally, Luke would take a second to appreciate exactly how beautiful his boyfriend looks, shirtless in only his grey pyjamas bottoms, strands of bleached blonde hair caught in the light of his phone screen, one arm bent to rest behind his head. This morning though, he only breathes out a slight sigh of relief and turns around as soon as Michael takes his attention off him.

“Yeah, thanks. It’s just clean underwear, I uh, I got them” Luke’s voice catches in his throat slightly, the pill bottle wrapped in a pair of black Calvin Kleins. He makes a beeline for the bathroom, locking the door and tipping the pills into his hand as soon as he can. As he stands over the sink and swallows one of the pills, he knows that this is it. There's no turning back after this. As long as he can make the bottles of pills he has stashed in his suitcase last until the end of the promo run he’ll be fine. So he doesn’t worry. Instead, he just knocks back the second pill and walks out of the bathroom to his waiting boyfriend. He’s going to prove that he’s still worthy of being in the band, that he can hold himself together.

If he needs medication to do that, no one needs to know.

 

For about two weeks, he’s taking double his prescribed dosage and everything is perfect. Four pills in the morning and one more at night just for good measure. They’ve been hopping between Cologne, Amsterdam, Paris, Germany and other places Luke can’t keep track of. Everything is a blur but in the best way possible. He has energy again and he’s actually sleeping at night again. He can perform without feeling insecure because his voice isn’t heavy with exhaustion anymore, he laughs and jokes in interviews, he feels _alive_ again. He’s on top of the fucking world.

But highs don’t last. Not even highs from prescription medications. In the back of Luke’s mind, he knows this. He’s been in this position before. Another week passes and the five pills a day he’s been taking isn’t enough anymore. He’s tossing and turning more at night, and the concerned glances from Michael are back and he hates it. His high, his release, the safe haven of the small bottles of pills that keep him sane are slowly driving him insane.

So obviously, there’s only one logical thing to do. Luke ups his dosage. Fuck doctors, therapists and clearly printed prescriptions on the sides of pill bottles. He knows what he needs. So the next morning when he wakes up and smuggles one of the bottles in with him to the bathroom, he swallows six, two at a time, before popping one extra for luck. Seven pills. That should do it.

He would be lying if he said that the world doesn’t spin a little bit as he leaves the bathroom after showering, but damn it’s worth it because once he regains his balance, he feels like he’s _floating_.

 

Michael isn’t an idiot. He’s noticed something is up, the sneaking around Luke does in the morning and the way his eyes dart around when he comes out of the bathroom like a nervous schoolboy, making sure he hasn’t been caught. Michael pretends to be oblivious every time, because regardless of what’s going on, Luke is happier than any of them have seen him for months and Michael guesses that if it means that he gets to see his boyfriends real smile, not just his forced one, reserved for interviewers and the media, he’s willing to let whatever’s going on slide.

Until he can’t anymore.

He can’t let it slide as days pass and Luke starts to come out of the bathroom in the morning stumbling slightly, his eyes glazed over. He can’t let it slide as Luke’s words became frantic in interviews as if he has too much energy and can’t get the words out in the right order. He can’t let it slide as Luke begins to spend less and less time in their bed at night, instead opting to sit by the window, staring out into the distance with weary, unsleeping eyes. He can't let it slide anymore, and maybe Michael _is_ an idiot, an idiot for not realising something is going on sooner.

 

And then it finally happens. Luke’s fucked up and he knows it.

They’re halfway through their second interview of the day, but he had realised that he’d made a mistake as soon as he stepped into the elevator and felt like he was going to throw up when it started its downward descent. His eyes were unfocused and no matter how hard he strained to make out the small font on their itinerary for the day, spread in the middle of their table during breakfast, he can’t see clearly.

He’d taken too many pills this morning. He isn’t even sure how many he’s taking per day now, just whatever feels right to get him through the day. But it doesn’t feel good anymore. His eyes are heavy and he tries his best to avoid having to speak to anyone or answering any questions in their interviews unless spoken to, because he’s scared he might not be able to get a sentence out without slurring. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth. He isn’t entirely sure he’s in control of his own body anymore. He doesn’t feel like he’s floating. He feels like he’s _drowning_.

He thinks he must zone out again, because the next thing he knows he feels Michael’s hand brushing over his knee, then on the small of his back, trying to help him up. “C’mon, it’s over now. We’ve gotta head over to the next room, only a few more to go before lunch okay? Then we can take a break and breathe for a little” Michael’s voice is comforting next to his ear, warm breath tickling the nape of his neck slightly but as Luke stands up, he tries to shake him off slightly anyway. Michael clearly knows somethings up. But Michael’s wrong, because he’s fine.

“I-I’m fine” Luke mutters, out loud this time. He’s not sure if he’s trying to convince Michael or himself.

He’s _fine_.

 

So he steadies himself on his own two feet as best as he can and follows the rest of the band from the room. The disapproving glares from their team are back, he can feel then piercing his back as they walk from one room to another, settle themselves on yet _another_ couch that’s just slightly too small, in front of _another_ camera and _another_ interviewer. Luke tries his best to look awake but his damn eyelids feel like lead and he can’t seem to keep them open for more than a few seconds at a time.

“Can you tell me what inspired you the most during the making of this record?” They were ten minutes into the interview, and Luke panicked as he realises that the interviewer, a middle-aged woman who seems to be becoming increasingly agitated, is staring right at him. His mind races.

Did she expect him to answer?

He didn’t have an answer.

What inspired him?

Would their managers be mad at him if he was honest and said _Xanax, alcohol and his homosexual relationship with his band member_?

Obviously.

 

As Luke’s mind raged on, silence filled the room until there’s a sharp snap. “No. You know what, turn the cameras off. We’re done.” The interviewer motions to the man behind the camera and Luke watches blurrily as Ashton’s eyes widen, the older boy jumping into damage control mode.

“Is everything okay, what’s going-”

“I’m sorry boys. I actually take my job seriously and I value my time. I want to spend it in a way that will be worthwhile to both me and my company. What I do _not_ consider worthwhile is spending half an hour sitting in front of four teenage boys who can’t even pay attention for that time span, and who clearly don’t have a care in the world for this thing, I’m not sure if you’ve heard of it, called _professionalism_.”

The raised voice hurts Luke’s head, and he might have brought his hands up to cover his ears if he could get his body to coordinate with his mind. “We’re not teenagers,” that’s Michael, sounding slightly indignant but Ashton cuts him off quickly.

“Shut up, that doesn’t matter.”

Luke opens his mouth to try and apologise, he knows that this is all his fault but before he can there’s a flurry of activity that is too much for his drug-addled mind to handle and he screws his eyes closed. Darkness is easier to deal with than reality. He’s not even really sure what reality is anymore. He thinks he feels someone helping him up. He feels like he might vomit all over the carpet. There’s a hand on his shoulder now, and it feels like Ashton’s. It’s too big to be Michael’s. Where is Michael anyway? He needs him.

“What the hell is going on here?” Luke feels another hand, a rougher one, pulling him away from Ashton and he hears someone whimper. Pathetic. Then he realises it’s him. He’s the pathetic one. What’s new?

It’s someone from their management team and he looks angry. Before Luke can even attempt to formulate a reply, Michael is shoving himself in between them.

“Get the hell off him, what is your problem?”

“My _problem_ is that you boys have one job, and you can’t even-”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed but it isn’t exactly the easiest job in the whole entire fucking world!” Michael’s voice is raised now. They’re alone in the room, the crew and cameramen having packed up as soon as the interviewer had stalked from the room, with one of the members of the band’s team chasing after her to offer apologies.

“It isn’t exactly the hardest either! All he has to do is manage to spend an interview without his eyes closed half the time or slurring all of his damn words! He can’t even walk properly. How can you expect anyone to turn a blind eye to this? What is he? Hungover? Drunk? High? Whatever the fuck he was up to last night-”

“Hey! He was in bed next to me all night I’ll have you know, so get off your high horse and stop trying to-”

“I’m sorry Mr Clifford, but we weren’t asking for, nor do we care for, the intimate details of your relationship. We just need to get to the bottom of why you all of a sudden think it’s acceptable behaviour for your bandmate to be showing up completely out of his right mind, whatever he was doing last night has affected all of your professional lives today and our entire team finds that highly disappointing.”

Michael can’t stand the look he throws at Luke after that sentence, as if the blonde’s struggles are merely an inconvenience. Luke is still leaning slightly against Ashton, and Michael can tell from one glance at him that even though he’s physically in the room, mentally he’s elsewhere. He’s shaking though, and his breathing is shallow. This only riles Michael up more, because dammit, can’t they see that Luke isn’t okay?!

Calum can see the look on Michael’s face, the way blood rushes to his cheeks and he knows that Michael’s about to explode. He’s known Michael long enough to be able to read the signs. And sure enough, before he can take the few steps to stand beside him, to try and talk him down, Michael snaps.

“Fuck you! Fuck you all! Do you have any clue what you’re talking about? Luke was nowhere last night, he wasn’t out drinking or shooting drugs in some seedy alleyway, he wasn’t doing anything apart from sleeping in bed next to me, but since you don’t want our intimate details I guess I’ll spare you everything else we’ve done in that bed over the past few-”

“Michael, you need to shut up. This isn’t helping.” That’s Ashton, forever the peacemaker, the one to intervene when things began to get slightly out of hand. Michael glares but he lets Calum lay a hand on his forearm. This is far from over.

 

The conversation rages on for fifteen minutes as Luke slips in and out of his conscious self. He can hear Michael’s voice every so often, and he sounds angry. Luke hope he’s not angry at him. He probably is though, he should be. They all should be. Eventually the room grows quiet again as Ashton finally manages to bring the conversation to a reasonable agreement, promising that none of them will let Luke out of their sight - even though Michael protests that this is _stupid_ because Luke is _not_ sneaking out to get high - and with that, the four boys are left alone again.

Luke’s mind races at the sudden silence, and for a second he wonders whether he’s passed out? Can you still think when you’re unconscious? He doesn’t think so. But why is the room so quiet, where did Michael’s yelling go? Have they given up? Maybe they’ve all agreed to let him be kicked out of the band, replaced with a more mentally stable frontman, maybe they’ve-

And then all of a sudden, he can feel Ashton behind him, he recognises the familiar cologne wrapping around him as he’s lead away. He’s not sure where, but he feels relief somewhere inside of him. He just wants to lie down.

He’s so tired.

They’re walking down some sort of hallway. He thinks he hears footsteps behind him, and he wonders if it’s Michael and Calum following them. They shouldn’t follow him. He just causes trouble everywhere he goes. How do they put up with him? What if they can’t anymore, what if he’s right and this is it and-

“Breathe Luke, you need to breathe. Deep breath in, deep breath out. You can do it.”

Breathe? How is he meant to do that? Luke tries but the air just catches in his throat and he hears gasping. He thinks it might be him.

Why can’t he seem to move his feet? He’s stumbling every so often.

Everything is distorted. The only thing he can focus on is the weight of the hand on his shoulder, grounding him. Not that he needs grounding, he already feels like he’s buried 6 feet under. That sounds more appealing than his situation now.

He doubts anyone would miss him.

 

And then he’s gone again. Sucked into the drug-induced haze he had medicated himself into. He doesn’t notice Ashton as he struggles to get the uncooperative younger boy into the waiting car until Michael and Calum catch up to help him. He doesn’t notice that their press day has clearly been cut short as he’s lead into the hotel lobby, half of his body weight now leaning on Calum in the way up in the elevator. He doesn’t notice his own incoherent mumblings as Michael digs around in his pockets for their hotel room key card, or that he’s being led inside, Michael propping the door open for the other two as they help him in.

Ashton’s on edge as he helps to lower Luke down onto the bed. Calum’s eyes reflect the same panic that he’s feeling, and that comforts him slightly. He knows they’re all thinking the exact same thing. What the hell has Luke done to himself? He glances over at Michael before biting his lip. He knows they have to talk about this, as he watches Luke slowly open his eyes and blink a few times, acquainting himself with the familiar surroundings now that all the movement has stopped.

They give him a few minutes. At least that’s what Calum tells himself, but realistically he knows that the three of them are the ones who need the few minutes, to try and wrap their brains around what just happened, around what’s been happening for the past few days, weeks, _months_.

He knows they’ve been stupid not to notice Luke has been getting bad again. He curses under his breath, ignoring the pointed look Ashton gives him, as if they’re all still pretending the silence is for Luke’s benefit anyway. Luke is so out of it he probably wouldn’t notice if the entire building collapsed around them, Calum thinks bitterly. Then he curses himself again. It’s not Luke’s fault that any of this is happening. All of them, him, Ashton, Michael, their management, their crew, everyone surrounding them, they’ve failed Luke. Not the other way around.

It doesn’t make this whole situation any easier though, throwing the blame around in his mind, so instead, Calum lets himself sink down onto the floor and observe the room through tired eyes. Ashton is pacing, back and forth, back and forth, his eyes cast up at the ceiling. He’s thinking. Calum has seen him do this too many times to count. Usually he might find it endearing. Today it just makes the tension in the room intensify.

Michael is perched on the bed, his legs curled up underneath him. Luke’s using his lap as a pillow, the unruly blonde curls spread against the material of Michael’s skinny jeans. Luke’s eyes have closed again, and Michael’s are closed as well, but Calum can tell he’s still awake by the way that his fingers card through Luke’s hair in slow, lazy movements. They’re curled around each other, and as close as they are as a band, it’s not too often that Ashton and Calum get to witness moments like these, the small, fleeting moments which display just how well they fit together, how at ease they are with each other. Calum can see the pain in Michael’s eyes as he opens them, casting them down at his boyfriend in his lap. He knows that he’ll be beating himself up over not having noticed anything, not having done anything sooner, just like they all are. It will hit Michael harder though. It always does, when Luke is concerned.

“We need to talk about this” Ashton announces, his pacing halting suddenly. They can’t linger in this unsure haze forever. They need to figure out what’s going on. “Is he awake?” Ashton asks gently, his voice less assertive as he gestures to Luke and Michael shrugs slightly as he leans down, his hands resting gently on Luke’s shoulders. He whispers something in Luke’s ear that neither Ashton nor Calum can quite catch, but Luke mumbles something unintelligible, seemingly in return, and his eyes open slowly, casting around the room to look at each one of them.

“Guys, ‘m fine really, jus’ a little-” Luke’s voice is shot, and Michael can feel his body begin to shake slightly from where he’s still resting against him.

“Luke, we’re not mad okay? You’re fine, everything is okay. We just need you to tell us what’s going on,” Michael reassures him gently, continuing to run his fingers through his hair in a slow rhythm, scratching his scalp every so often. In the back of his mind, he's aware that he usually might be a bit unsure about being this intimate in front of anyone, but all of that goes out the window right now. Luke needs Michael.

 

No one notices that Ashton had disappeared from the room until he walks back through the bathroom door. Michael’s stomach drops as he catches sight of the orange pill bottle in Ashton’s hand, looking threateningly empty. Luke’s eyes are blown wide open, his mind racing with confusion. This can’t be happening. No, no no. He’s _sure_ he stowed the empty bottle away in his suitcase this morning, but then again he’s struggling to remember anything that happened over an hour ago.

“Does everything going on have anything to do with these Luke?” Ashton asked, his eyebrow raised slightly and before Luke can even attempt to respond, Michael is rambling, panic evident in his voice.

“I didn’t know you were taking those again, I thought we agreed that we were letting each other know about this stuff. You can’t just be taking medication without telling anybody, have you been taking the right dosages and-”

“Of course he isn’t taking the right dosages, Mike, look at him!” Calum finally speaks up, his eyes burning with the type of distressed anger they all know only really comes out when he’s trying to disguise his own worry and grief.

“Okay, let’s all just calm down for a sec” Ashton moves to sit on the end of the bed. “How long have you been back on meds Luke?”

“A few weeks, ‘m not sure, I jus’ wanted to feel n-normal, that’s all” Luke whispers, not looking any of them in the eyes. His cheeks flush bright red, and all of the instinctive urges in Michael’s body are screaming to protect him. “‘M so sorry Mike, I-” Luke begins to croak, but Michael shushes him immediately, his hands moving from Luke's hair to rub up and down the younger boys spine in soothing motions.

“It’s okay, it’s okay… it will all be okay” Michael’s voice is calming. He doesn’t tell Luke how much he wishes he had felt like he could confide in him, or how worried sick he is that maybe Luke will never feel like he can survive without the meds. Those were all conversations for other times though, Michael knew. So he continued to move his hands gently over Luke’s back, his boyfriend shuddering every now and then with his unstable breathing.

Before anyone else can say anything, Ashton’s sensible side kicks in and he looks down at the bottle still clenched in his hand. “You can’t just quit these cold turkey, Luke… look if you can tell me where your next bottle is I can grab you out enough to wean you off this ridiculous dosage you’re on, but I’m taking the rest back to my room with my after tha-”

“I don’t have another bottle… I don’t...”

“Fuck.”

 

Tense silence blankets the room. There’s a pressure building in Luke’s chest and on any ordinary day he thinks he might have ended up in a full-blown panic attack in front of his entire band but today he doesn’t have any energy to get worked up with. Instead, he lies there, as if he’s paralyzed, the weight of the situation crushing him.

“I’m googling withdrawal symptoms” Calum announces out of the blue, from where he’s moved to sit next to Ashton. He’s sick of the silence. It’s not helping anyone. He stares down at the small screen of his phone as he types something in, both him and Ashton pouring over it.

“Ok, well the common side effects of Benzodia…what the fuck how do you even say that?” he mutters, his forehead scrunching with concentration as he reads.

“It’s Benzodiazepines” Luke mumbles quietly from his spot on the bed, stumbling over some of the letters.

“The side effects can include drowsiness, dizziness, poor balance and coordination. The higher the dose, the more intense these side effects typically are.”

“What the hell, how many of those did you take this morning Luke?” Ashton frowns

“Eight.. er f-fourteen, maybe t-twelve. Dunno”

“How many are you supposed to take, what the hell were you trying to do Luke?” Ashton is beginning to sound slightly more hysterical now, his voice rising, and even in his disorientated state, Luke puts two and two together.

“Wha? ’m not fucking suicidal Ash-”

“He’d have to take literally thousands of those to overdose” Michael supplied, biting down on his bottom lip.

“H-h-how d’you know that?” Luke mumbles weakly, his eyebrows furrowing together slightly, curiosity overwhelming him. His boyfriend has different drugs for his panic disorder, as far as he knows.

“Oh, you know…” Michael pauses “I googled it last year, just to, uh, just to make sure, when you were using them like you are now I guess.”

The room goes quiet and Luke thinks that maybe if concentrating too hard on anything didn’t make him nauseous right now then he might be able to hear his heart break a little at that. He reaches his hand out blindly, searching for Michael’s hand and wrapping his own around it.

“I couldn’t do tha… no, I-I-I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“I know, I trust you. I just wanted to make sure you were safe. I always want you to be safe.” Michael scrunches his eyes shut. Luke is pretty sure that Michael is about to cry. Luke is pretty sure he’s about to start crying himself in a minute.

 

Luke falls asleep not long after that, his body giving in to the exhaustion that’s creeping up on him. Michael attempts to stay semi-conscious, hoping that Luke makes the most of the sleep he’s getting right now as he hears ‘insomnia’ listed off as one of the withdrawal symptoms that Calum is reading from his phone. He’s still struggling slightly to wrap his head around everything, that Luke has been back on Xanax for weeks, sneaking the pills in their bathroom and he hasn’t once suspected that maybe that could be it, even after everything Luke went through last year when became dependent on the drug to even have a chance of functioning normally. If he hasn’t there for Luke over the past few weeks, he’s damn sure that he’s going to be there now.

“He can’t do any promo. Definitely not while he’s in withdrawal, and then he’ll need time off.”

“I’m not sure that’s up to us entirely Mike-”

“I don’t care. He’s done. He needs to rest and I will personally fight every single asshole who tries to say otherwise.”

Ashton sighs, he knows that Michael is right, and he also knows that Michael probably would try and fight someone when it came down to trying to look out for Luke. “I know, I know. You’re right. Cal and I can sort that out, Luke needs you.”

 

The next time Luke opens his eyes, everything is hazy and he feels like he’s spinning slightly. He can make out the alarm clock on the nightstand, reading _1:14 am_ , through the darkness, the room only lit by the moonlight filtering in through the curtains that Michael had haphazardly drawn to try and replicate some sense of normalcy, and Calum’s laptop from where he’s sprawled on the unused bed on the other side of the room. Luke can feel the warmth radiating off of Michael lying beside him, and he can just about make out the silhouette of Ashton, half-asleep, slumped in the armchair in the corner. He’s on the verge of opening his mouth to weakly protest that he’s fine and there’s absolutely no need for the entire band to camp out in here for the entire night and babysit him, but before he can Michael notices that he’s awake, and leans down to pass him a bottle of water. “Here, you need to stay hydrated.” His voice is so gentle and caring, so full of love. Luke is sure that he doesn't deserve this, but he's too thirsty to even consider refusing Michael's kind gesture, so he drinks, fumbling with the bottle cap to close it again. He curses himself and his uncoordinated drugged up body as Michael reaches over to help.

“I love you” Luke mumbles, but it’s slightly intelligible and his eyes drift closed again before he can stop them, missing Michael's whispered reply.

"I love you too."

 

The next seven days were quite possibly some of the most challenging days that Michael had experienced in a long time. It's indescribable, the pain of seeing someone you love suffer so immensely and not having the power to fix it. Luke had been 'excused' from all of their promotional duties to recover, which in reality just meant that he had been banished by management until he could "function like a normal human being and not embarrass the band and it's branding." Regardless of all the boys knowing that Luke needed this time to rest, Michael quickly became anxious and jittery over the separation. As soon as Luke could use his phone without suffering splitting headaches, Michael was texting him every hour to make sure he was still okay. No matter how many times Ashton and Calum had repeatedly offered to room with Luke for a night to keep an eye on him so that Michael could get some proper and much-needed rest, there was no hope. Michael was forced away from Luke for the majority of the days and he'd be damned if anyone tried to keep the two of them apart at night.

 

For the first two nights, Luke would hardly sleep at all. He was waking up in the middle of the night, panicked and gasping. His chest would rise and fall at rapid rates with the bedsheets strewn around him and drenched in sweat, his body working so hard to expel the drug that Luke himself was still so desperately craving. Michael didn't get any sleep either, but it was okay. They would get through it together.

 

On the third day, Michael had walked into the room to find the clothes usually contained in their suitcases messily strewn all over the floor. Luke was on his hands and knees, completely out of his mind, desperately clawing through everything, searching for relief in the form of the tiny white pills inside of an orange bottle, his breathing ragged and shallow. “Michael… Mike, Mike, I don’t have any more pills. I-I-I can’t find them, I-I need them, please give them to-”

Michael is on the floor next to him in an instant, kneeling in front of the shaking boy. “You’ve run out, there are no more okay? You don’t need them, I promise. You will be totally fine.” He had held Luke close to him, trying to get him to copy his slow and over exaggerated steady breathing. They had fallen asleep on the floor that night, and Michael did his best not to complain about the pain in his back and neck the next day from their uncomfortable sleeping arrangements. Luke had woken up the next morning calm and that was what mattered.

 

The fourth night had rolled around and Michael was exhausted as he dragged himself up to their hotel room after saying goodnight to Ashton and Calum. All he wanted was a long hot shower, and to crawl into bed next to Luke. He had fumbled with the light switch, flicking it on to light the darkened room so he could retrieve his sweatpants from his suitcase and head into the bathroom to try and freshen himself up.

Luke groaned as soon as the light hit, seeping through the cracks in his closed eyelids.

“Turn the lights out”

“Hey, just give me two seconds, I just need to grab something” Michael muttered absentmindedly as he makes his way across the room.

“Turn the lights out, it hurts”

“Luke-”

“Fuck you. Turn them off”

“You don’t have to bite my head off” Michael’s voice sounded hurt, and that resonated somewhere inside of Luke, until he was overwhelmed with the relief of the room being plunged back into darkness.

Michael sighed quietly to himself, now stumbling slightly as dug through his suitcase blindly. It hits him that he probably should have paid more attention to the list of withdrawal symptoms Luke might suffer that Calum had read out. Sensitivity to light, of course. Michael can be a dick sometimes, he knew it.

“I’m sorry.” Michael heard the voice cut through the darkness, small and tinged with pain.

“It’s okay Luke, I’m sorry too. Just… just try and sleep ok?”

They slept slightly easier that night, Luke's head on Michael’s chest, calmed by the rhythmic rise and fall of his breathing and the thumping of his heartbeat.

 

By the fifth day, things had started to look up. Luke’s panic was on the decline, and had he managed to leave the room to have breakfast with them all. Michael, Ashton and Calum all tried to hide how excited and relieved they were that he had finally left the hotel room. Luke had noticed though, and in turn, had to try and hide how elated he was that he had finally managed to do something that made them all happy.

 

On the sixth night, Luke slept for an entire seven hours and even though his eyes still had darkened rings sunken underneath them, they lit up slightly when he smiled at Michael when he woke that morning. Michael wraps him in his arms and doesn’t let him go for fifteen minutes, wanting to protect that glimmer of happiness for as long as possible. It had been too long since Luke had felt the elusive emotion of joy. He thinks he's missed it. Maybe, being buried six feet under isn’t the most desirable thing in the world anymore. Maybe instead, it’s being buried under the covers with Michael. Whatever activity it is they may be doing under the said covers, Luke isn’t fussy.

 

Now, on the seventh day, Michael walks in after a meeting with management to find Luke curled up in the chair by the window, dressed in work out shorts and one of Michael’s t-shirts. It still amazes him how small Luke can make himself look sometimes, despite being 6’3 and sporting overly lanky limbs. He’s got his legs pulled into his chest, his eyes cast over the streets of the city below.

“Hey,” it doesn’t take much to get Luke’s attention, as his head snaps around as soon as he hears Michael’s voice.

“Hey yourself.” Luke stands up and wraps his arms around Michael. He looks better today than he did even yesterday. His skin has regained some of its natural colour and he’s steadier on his feet now, no longer shaky and uncoordinated like he was for days.

“I have some news” Michael announces once Luke has pulled away from their hug, and Luke cocks his head slightly in questioning. Michael loves it when he does that.

“What? They’re gonna finally let me out of solitary confinement and let me start working again? Because I swear if I have to spend one more day holed up in here without you I might go more insane than I was when I was on the drugs and-”

Michael cuts him off, laughter on his lips. “Luke shut up. We’re going home.”

Luke stares at him for a second, not quite believing what he’s hearing. He doesn’t want to run the risk that Michael is toying with him. He wouldn’t though, surely not.

“You’re kidding”

“Nope, not one bit”

“What about all the contracts and shit? There’s still a solid week left of promo we have to do, we’re flying out to Stockholm and-”

Michael can see Luke starting to stress slightly. He had figured that this might happen and immediately rushes to talk him down from the panic he can work himself into if he thinks too hard about, well, pretty much anything at the moment.

“The only flying we’re doing is back to LA to spend the entire week in bed. Ashton and Calum are staying, they’re going to finish off the rest of the interviews without us.”

“But… how did you get management to even let us leave? Especially you? You don’t get insanity leave like I do.” Luke laughs bitterly at this.

For a second, Michael considers telling him the real story, but he knows that Luke hates any sort of conflict with management and that it will potentially only serve to spike his anxiety even more. So Michael leaves out the entirety of their meeting with management, for the majority of which they were certain that Michael was not going to be allowed to accompany Luke anywhere. That was until Ashton had stood up and threatened that if they tried to ship Luke back to LA without Michael then him and Calum would leave too, and “leave all you morons to sit in front of the cameras instead” and that maybe they could use that time to “explain that the entirety of Five Seconds Of Summer has fucked off because you don’t have a single clue how to be compassionate human beings instead of greedy and capitalistic every second of your damn lives.” Michael knows that will definitely make Luke anxious, anxious that Ashton will get in trouble for defending them like that, anxious that they will get in trouble for leaving, anxious for a million and one other reasons.

So instead, he just settles for “it doesn’t matter, all that matters is that they’re letting us go. We’re on a flight tomorrow morning. We’re going home.”

 

And maybe that’s all Luke needs to hear. Maybe his hands still shake slightly, and he has to let Michael coax him back to sleep some nights. Maybe can still feel that swirling pit of anxiety somewhere deep in his stomach, and the craving for those little white pills still tugs at him sometimes. But maybe that’s okay. Luke will be okay. He’s got Michael. He’s going home.

_He’ll be okay._

 

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first work on here for literally like two years but it's so long (and turns out i still always end up writing angst what's new) and i hope you guys enjoy it! and i am trying to get back into writing at the moment so if you have any requests or ideas leave them below!
> 
> if you want to, you should totally come say hi on my [tumblr](http://lovely-muke.tumblr.com) if you want to come talk to me about writing or 5sos or if you want to leave [feedback](http://lovely-muke.tumblr.com/ask) that would be so greatly appreciated! lots of love, hayley xx


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